Pull Over - a short story

Chapter One - Exit 35

Pull Over

Chapter One - Exit 35

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Logic, sense, rationale.

They're synonyms, in a way, and three staples of a stable mind that I do not seem to give a fuck about right now.

Nothing seems fair or good or honest. Nothing about today or yesterday or the last two years of my life. I've always felt fairly lucky, given the cards I was dealt. Nothing is perfect – that's logical to know and understand. No one claims to have the perfect life, and it is logical to assume that even those who may claim it, don't have it.

Loving logic is why I'm a student. And if I have identified with anything in life, it's just that. Studious, smart, a bit of a perfectionist. I love my student title so much that I decided to expand it another four years after grad school, but is that all I am? Have I really lost any other sense of self besides the one that comes with a notebook and a pencil?

I thought I was my best self with Dylan, but maybe I never really knew my true self to even become my best self. And my best self is absolutely not the body I have become in this bed for the past three days.

"Jac..." Elliott won't stop knocking at my bedroom door. I don't want to talk, but I haven't wanted to talk to anyone in three days. "Jac, you've gotta eat." I should, I really should. It's not that I haven't been hungry, I haven't been able to move from this spot.

Two years of my life.

Elliott has to be the logic and the sense and the rationale for me, at least for right now. He was my academic nightmare when I met him, but it's the reason we clung to one another. It's the reason he's here, knocking at my door. He's making sense of the situation that I can't seem to grasp for the life of me.

Maybe that's why I graduated undergrad with a 3.91 GPA, and he graduated with a 3.92.

"You never lock your door," he sighs. "I'm coming in."

I can't protest, and maybe a part of me doesn't want to. But I still groan when I see his navy blue slippers walking towards my bed. The covers immediately darken my view, and he laughs. "Nice try." He pulls them away from me. "It's just a bagel. Plain cream cheese. Now, eat."

"You're a dick," I mumble. I realize in that moment how chapped my lips are. Have I had any water?

"Ah, yes." The corner of my mattress dips as he sits down and presents me with the bagel. "I'm the dick friend making sure you don't shrivel up and die in here."

"Let me," I whisper.

"Christ," he rolls his eyes. "You'd haunt me if I let you die in that." For the first time in three days, I laugh. I look down at my shirt and laugh. There was one fraternity dance that I attended in college – a sneaker ball for Sigma Phi Epsilon.

My date, Corey Carden, forgot he invited me. So, Corey Carden invited a second date. Though, in her defense, she thought she was his only date, as well. When I showed up at his door, dressed and ready to go, he laughed. Not because I looked bad or because I said something funny, no. He laughed because my face reminded him that he did, indeed, invite two girls to the dance.

I left so that he could take Bridget. As a parting gift, he gave me one of the free t-shirts they were handing out at the dance.

"When I die, wrap this up and give it back to Corey." Elliott laughs, setting the bagel on my nightstand and laying down beside me. "Move," I groan.